


Out in the Cold

by dovahqueene



Series: Farrow Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: honestly probably awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahqueene/pseuds/dovahqueene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the collapse of Haven, Farrow Lavellan finds herself struggling, and not just because of the cold. The leftover voices in her head can't seem to leave her alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out in the Cold

Her staff was broken.

Across from her, just within reach, her staff lay broken in half. She reached for it, ignoring the shooting pains in her arms and her left hand, touching the hooked top and frowning.

After a moment, Farrow moved her head and instantly regretted it. Was her neck broken? Was she dying?

After a moment of frightened, uneven breathing, Farrow took a deep breath and decided she wasn't going to die. That didn't sound like her. Instead, she did what she always did; something stupid.

Quick as she could, she sat up, gasping and holding back a scream with the pain that went through her bones. It _hurt_ , but she had to move or she really _would_ die.

Slower, now, Farrow stood. Every bone in and joint and _fiber_ of her _being_ protested, but she managed to stand up, however shakily on a wounded ankle. She wished for a whole staff, for something to lean on.

That stupid Mark – what had Corypheus called it, an anchor? - was glowing and _hurting_. The pain in her left hand been so bad only before the breach had stabilized, when it had been expanding and the mark had been killing her. The "anchor" felt different though, it felt... blocked up.

Farrow had to start moving. It was chilly, wherever she was, to say the least. Her breath rose and curled up in front of her, and even inside of this cave she was ankle deep in snow. She hated to see what awaited her at the end of the tunnel.

That is, if she could _get_ there. To do that she needed to actually move her legs.

She could've laughed, if she weren't so frightened. She sounded just like her brother.

_To actually get out of here, Ice-Brain, you're going to need to move your feet._

By the time Farrow saw the terror, it was too late. She'd been smirking at the comment she knew Fennel would've said if he were here, she hadn't even seen it's terribly long legs and arms. They were horribly spindly, terrors.

Oh, she was going to die, yes. Every spell she'd ever learned came to mind, but she was so drained from the fighting with the templars, and the _anchor_ -

The anchor _exploded_.

Within seconds, the screeching demon collapsed, whatever Farrow'd just conjured up demolishing it.

She stood there for a moment, mouth gaping. "Uh – well," she said to herself, looking down at the now fading anchor. "Hm."

That hadn't felt like her magic, and she hadn't accidentally cast anything in years. Her hand no longer ached, though, so she shrugged and continued limping.

She prayed the avalanche hadn't covered whatever hole there might be at the end of this tunnel, if there was one. Of course, there had to be a way out, otherwise how had the demon got in?

_Maybe the same way you did, Ice-Brain._

She nearly snorted. As she shivered in the freezing cave, her brother's nickname had never been so fitting.

There was a light nearby, and the sound of heavy winds, which would of course be icy -

_Excellent observation skills Ice-Brain, top-notch -_

_Oh, there you go again, Fennel_ , she thought, _being an ass in a situation that definitely doesn't call for it._

She smiled to herself now. It was almost like he was there with her.

He was being irritable. She was feeling the same as she climbed through waist-deep snow.

"I know it's freezing, Fennel," she said aloud, holding her hand out in front of her, "but before you say anthing, I can't get a flame right now to save my life. Which is the point."

 _Are you dying, little sister?  
_ "I'm not your little sister, Fennel," she answered, clearly ignoring the question.

_I was born first. Minutes do count, Ice-Brain. What exactly do you call a younger sister?_

This time, Farrow did laugh. She regretted it, though; the wheezy laugh made her shiver so hard she was certain she was going to shatter.

_Don't die, little sister. I quite like annoying you._

She smiled despite their ( _her_ ) situation, walking slowly through the wind and snow and ice. She loved ice, could almost always be found twisting some around her hand, or playing with little ice jewelry that always seemed to break so easily. It was almost ironic, the ice forming on her cheeks and eyelashes. It was not her own.

Oh, Farrow loved her ice. When she wanted to show off, she could change the color or hue, which said something about a Dalish elf. Dorian, he was something when it came to magic (and most everything else); she'd seen him make a wall of dark purple flames once, though he'd been showing off in response to the rather beautiful ice sculpture she'd made with her magic.

 _Who's Dorian?  
_ "Hmm?" Farrow realized that she'd stopped walking. "Oh. I'm not quite sure." Whatever though she'd been working on had disappeared.

She continued on, pushing past the thick white snow. She couldn't get a grip on any warmth, couldn't _find_ it, and whatever mana she had left wasn't enough to make it from nothing. They might very well freeze to death tonight.

_That's alright, little sister, we'll be fine. I promise._

The worry in her chest seemed to melt at Fennel's promise, as did the snow around her.

"That can't be _you_ , can it, Fennel?" she teased, wiggling her fingers. "Oh, that's all me. Keeping us warm and alive."

Farrow could've sworn she heard him laugh.

It was nice to hear his voice again. She missed it, after not hearing it for so long... why hadn't she heard it for so long?  
_What are you talking about? You hear my voice everyday. I'm terribly annoying._

Again, Farrow laughed aloud. Yes, that was true, but for some reason it felt good to be pestered by her twin brother's antics.

The snow was brutal, but she managed to melt some of it at least. It still kept their movement to a very, _very_ slow pace, and the wind was relentless. Snow flakes hit her cheek all around, and her shivering was constant.

"Where are we going?" She had suddenly realized she didn't know.

_Oh, I don't know. Just walking, I suppose._

That made sense. But she was cold, freezing, and eventually she would run out of mana. She hoped they stopped walking soon.

Well... she could just stop. If she wanted too... and she did. Want to. She wanted warmth, and if she fell asleep she could have a nice, warm dream. Usually, she hated her dreams, as they were almost always nightmares, but this was a nightmare in its own way. She was just awake.

_You can't stop and dream, Ice-Brain. We have to keep going._

With a groan, Farrow forced herself to keep moving. Little hairs that had escaped the bun she'd tossed her hair into and out of the way tickled her neck, and she considered taking the rest of it down to warm her neck. But it would just snap around her face and make this nightmare even worse.

"I wish I had a staff," she complained.

"I wish I had two feet," he teased. Always joking, her brother.

For the first time, Farrow took the time to glance back at her twin. He was paying his mind to the aground, although neither of them were certain that was what they were walking on. His old leather hood was up, but Farrow could still see tips of his auburn hair, the color matching hers, poking out from beneath. She met his eyes, the identical dark blue of her own. His deep green Vallaslin was still fresh on his face.

Fennel paused, leaning on his oak staff. It wasn't a mages staff; he needed it to help him walk after losing a foot in a human hunting trap.

Farrow noticed something odd, then, and frowned. "Fennel?"

"Yes, little sister?" His mouth didn't move, but she paid that no mind.

"You're not leaving any footprints."

 _Of course I'm not_.

"But - "

_Look up, little sister._

She did.

"Is... that a campfire?" She squinted.

There was no response.

Breath catching in her throat, Farrow whirled around as fast as she could in the snow. He was nowhere to be seen.

"F – Fennel?" She called. There was a clear note of panic in her voice.

She looked down at the snow. The only difference she could spot in the snow were the dragged out lines she'd made moving through the snow.

But... she'd been melting it. It had been so much easier to walk through, she'd barely even felt it -

"Fennel, please! This isn't funny! You're scaring me!"

Nothing.

_oh please, oh no oh please Creators no_

She dragged her legs through the snow towards the campfire, void of all people. There was no actual fire in the pit, but she could try to start one.

"Fennel, no, please don't do this again," she shouted, choking on her voice. Tears were freezing on her cheeks.

_oh no no no oh no_

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. This was worse than the first time he'd gone and died on her, because now she had no one and nothing except for the cold and the snow and the ice and the wind, and she wasn't going to die, too.

There was nothing she could do. Not even a spark of flame came from her hands when she tried, and she knew she was going to die. Survived the Fade, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, forced her way out of a dark future that had made her sick to her stomach, and she was going to freeze to death.

So she prayed.

Random words in Elven slipped from her tongue as she prayed to every god and goddess she could think of, her voice lowering and rising as her fear shook. She may have even prayed to the Maker.

_Look at you. Wallowing to some false human god. Pathetic da'len._

That voice... harsh and unyielding, she hadn't heard it in years.

" _Mamae_ ," she breathed, turning to face her mother.

Farrow looked up at the woman, who wore a disgusted look on her face as she glared down at her daughter.

"I should call you a _harellan_ ," Ellana said, circling her daughter. The deep auburn hair both of her children had inherited was shot with silver now, and her deep blue eyes were surprisingly cold. Farrow cowered, fear keeping her on her knees. "But I doubt you'd even know what it means."  
This woman had been gone for _years_ , but Farrow could feel shame on her cheeks. _Harellan_ had been what her mother had called her grandfather when he'd told the Keeper of Ellana's plans to slaughter a human village as a message.

Ellana said something too quick for Farrow to comprehend, but she was certain that her mother was just insulting her more.

"You disobeyed the Keeper," she whispered, looking at her hands.

"What?" her mother snarled.

"You disobeyed the Keeper," Farrow repeated, looking up at her mother now. "You were going to kill an entire village to send a _pointless_ message, one you had to know the other clans would try to distance themselves from." Feeling brave now, Farrow stood. The cold whipped at her cheeks, but she ignored it. "You just wanted chaos, pointless chaos. And you left." She took a step forward, smirking. "You call me _harellan,_ but you abandoned Fennel and I."

Her mother backed away. She seemed to realize that it made her seem weak, and lifted her chin higher, but the damage was done.

"He's dead now, you know," Farrow breathed. And then her mother disappeared.

She stumbled backwards. Ellana had disappeared, going into the wind like smoke. Farrow felt her stomach clenching, until she realized that her head felt quieter.

But it wasn't empty.

Snow crunched behind her, and she turned, finding herself face to face with her father.

It was awfully quick, that transition from the coldness that made up her mother to the kindness her father had been.

Manahon smiled at her. Farrow had been told plenty of times that while she looked nothing like her father, they couldn't be more similar. He was a mage, as well, and she knew of his preference for ice. Her memories of him warm, the exact opposite of her mother. She could remember his light brown hair, always knotted and tangled with leaves, and his _eyes_ , they'd been kind. She remembered his bow,

Farrow said nothing. She knew he wasn't real, and yet she couldn't stop herself from sprinting to him and hugging her father. He was so _warm_ for a hallucination.

"You're awfully cold, _da'len_ ," Manahon said. She could feel his smile as she hugged him. While her mother had called her _da'len_ , "little child" in Elven, she had used it to insult Farrow. Her father used it as an endearing term.

"Have you seen where I am?"

"Not we?"

Farrow let go of him, feeling tears in her throat. "Ir abelas," she whispered. _I'm sorry._ She had whispered it at his funeral, too.

"You've nothing to be sorry for."  
But she _did_. This wasn't just irrational blame, she had _killed him_.

She was young. Her magic was still so new and erratic and messy and she had no control of it, and the bear had come from nowhere. It attacked, and fire had simply exploded from her and her fear, burning the bear to ash. The explosion had knocked him off his feet, and he'd fallen from much too high for anyone to survive.

Farrow could still remember her ragged breathing as she screamed for her father, and the pure panic when she looked over the edge and saw him laying down there, broken and twisted up. She remembered the blood from his mouth...

"You're not real," she breathed, shaking. She didn't mind if she died right here. Perhaps she deserved it. "This isn't... this isn't real. You're just telling me what I want to hear."

Manahon smiled again. Her memories were perfect... or perhaps that was because he _was_ a memory. "You know you don't believe that, Farrow."

"Maker's breath!"  
She turned, and the sight of Commander Cullen sent shock waves through her. What was he doing here? What was...

"I... Commander."

She turned back to her father, who was surprisingly still there. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, kissed her cheek, and said goodbye before disappearing.

"I found her!"

Manahon was gone, smoke in the wind like her mother and Fennel. It was cold again, but Farrow hadn't felt so light in years.

When she collapsed from the cold, carried into the camp by the Commander and Cassandra and Solas, Farrow's head was wonderfully quiet.

 


End file.
